


How Castiel Made Dean Winchester

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25001668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Some detail on the events of Dean Winchester's second creation.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	How Castiel Made Dean Winchester

_Sew the starlight across the body, just so._

_Castiel set to his work, needle in his mouth -_

_or that would be the way it seemed, to an outside observer._

_Since the human mind could not comprehend the reality,_

_here,_

_here is the tale of how Castiel put Dean Winchester back together again._

_***_

_The materials lay scattered around him, and in his lap -_

_yes, this angel in the old trenchcoat,_

_with the face of a man from lost centuries past,_

_with the face of a cemetery angel._

_He looks nothing like this, of course, not really._

_But because that is the image humans associate with the name **Castiel** \- _

_this is what it looks like._

_It looks like constellations spread out across his lap, and the floor and walls around him_

_which are really the firmament of the night sky -_

_but in the sky, where Castiel and his brethren live, it is always night -_

_the stars made for stitching._

_Castiel passes the top of his palm over an endless sea of green jewels,_

_the type children dream of, when they dream of Arabian nights -_

_he sifts, and searches, until he finds the color - just so -_

_he sets these aside._

_He begins, as he must, with bone._

_Stitching, stitching, the strength in the marrow and the cold hard white -_

_firm and strong, reliable; the frame from which all things must begin_

_the frame which is left, after,_

_when all things end._

_Next, the sinew, the muscle -_

_supple and quick, the muscle of work rather than beauty_

_the muscle memory of hair-triggers and never telegraphing a punch_

_**never let 'em see you comin'** _

_and Castiel pauses, for that thought was not his own._

_Beside him, in a basket, something bright and warm and buttery_

_like a summer's day with ice cream and friends, a picnic in a park,_

_love and joy and sweetness, a warmth that reaches out for Castiel's hand every time he has to pass over it for another element of his work -_

_and Castiel, being what he is, cannot resist giving it a quick caress._

_Just to see,_

_what it's like -_

_to hold the soul of the righteous man._

_He'd expected it tarnished._

_Broken. Battered._

_It surprised him._

_The touch suffused **his** being, leaving him warm and light in ways Castiel had never known were possible._

_And Castiel smiled down, and went back to work on his creation._

_Next, he worked on the veins and the blood and the heartbeat -_

_in this man, the blood pumped heavy and fast._

_He healed the arteries that were already building up._

_Castiel healed as he worked, even though he had strict instructions to "put him back exactly as he was, Castiel"._

_But Castiel was a creator, and he wanted to make Dean Winchester his own._

_He closed this creation over lovingly with soft skin, stitching, stitching -_

_skin tan like the summertime of his soul,_

_and soft, softer than a man with his career ought to have._

_He reached for the gemstones, and made his eyes green,_

_the green of freshly-mown grass in the summer._

_Last, he gently lifted the soul from its basket._

_He held it up to look at it closely._

_This soul was safe here, with him._

_Happy. Delighted. Protected, for the first time in its life._

_It reached out for him, and it wept, as Castiel put it into the chest cavity with deep regret and misgiving._

_Then, he closed the chest over._

_There was a mark, on the arm -_

_from Castiel dragging the soul out of the pit -_

_and he left it there, although he didn't have to, as a signature._

_As a way for him to find the soul again -_

_if it wanted to be found,_

_by this monster that had lovingly cradled it in his great hands,_

_the first time it had ever known peace._

_Castiel looked at his creation. It was beautiful, and beautifully made, as humans went._

_But the soul would not spark, the body would not be **him** , until this last -_

_and he laid a hand over the naked body in his lap,_

_over the forehead,_

_and over the handprint, because Castiel was secretly a sentimental creature -_

_and he filled the head with all the memories that made Dean Winchester._

_He watched the horrors of his life unfold -_

_he read all the secrets of his heart -_

_shameful only to Dean, but Castiel ached to feel the shame flowing through him,_

_knowing that he could not stem the tide, because Dean would be suspicious._

_But some of the worst memories -_

_well,_

_Castiel sanded off the rough edges. He made them softer, blurrier -_

_he did what he could to take away the pain of this soul,_

_to ease its suffering._

_Why, he didn't quite know._

_Castiel usually followed the rules._

_Not this time._

_As he watched this man he had built up, atom by atom, and his fierce loyalty, his love for family and friends, his heroism -_

_and yes, his fears, and his shame, and his questionable actions -_

_Castiel saw him, **all** of him -_

_and he was fascinated._

_And something more._

_This was a man unlike any other of his Father's creations._

_Or perhaps he was just that way to Castiel, who now had reason to understand why they had been commanded to love humanity._

_Castiel looked at the man in his lap again, memories complete, body finished, and ready to take that first breath, to open those gemstone eyes._

_But -_

_he thought -_

_something is missing._

_Then he looked at the constellations he had laid out like a blanket around him, helping him to work, and thought -_

_Ah. There._

_And Castiel scattered his favorite constellations across Dean's skin,_

_so that when they found each other,_

_he could lose himself in counting them._

_Intensely pleased with his creation, he smiled down upon it._

_And to his utter shock, Dean took a deep breath -_

_and opened his eyes._

_Eyes that were huge, and innocent, almost childlike in their wonder and their beauty -_

_eyes that, Castiel already knew, were often tired, or narrowed, on Earth._

_Dean lifted a hand to Castiel's cheek -_

_and Castiel was frozen, because he should not be able to do this -_

_and with all the childlike wonder in those huge green eyes, said:_

_"Thank you."_

_Castiel snapped out of it when he spoke, and hurried to complete his mission -_

_put the body into the ground in his haste, without thinking of how he would emerge,_

_or even if he would -_

_because Castiel,_

_the angel,_

_had felt a soul reach out for him alone._

_***_

_Alone again, in his part of heaven, Castiel stared at the cut-out stars from the constellations in the sky._

_He wondered, for the first time, about many things._

_The command was coming, he knew it -_

_war was imminent,_

_he was to be the messenger, this time._

_"Castiel," he heard his name called, and he went to serve, as the soldier he had always been._

_But for the first time, an ulterior motive hidden beneath a wing,_

_and the tatters of constellations, along with his own fascination for that lonely, bright soul,_

_followed Castiel down to earth -_

_to the righteous man, and to rebellion._


End file.
